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DKSouls May 24
Me
There's one thing that bothers me my entire life, it's not you or anyone else, but me
I feel so powerless, helpless and weak, even though that is what I should seek.
I can't contain this damage any longer, it has to fade and I want others to see that those problems are eating on me.

But who should I tell about myself, I am like a forgotten book in a shelf.
There's no one gonna take me out, untouched and dusty.
I wish I could erase these pages which hurt me the most, because these negative ones are the host.
I am a garden full of dead flowers thirsty for water but all they get are my salty tears, they're drowning together with my fears.

I cannot sleep at night cause I am alone and inside myself ignites a fight.
Why can I not be like everyone else, happy and living without disgrace.
I am depressed, stressed and I can confess that I don't ever felt blessed.
I don't believe in god, someone else or even me.
I've lost myself years ago and with it my dignity.
S Bharat Apr 10
The Post

I went to picnic spot and had a lot of fun
With cousin and di
I took some selfies and later on posted
Them on WhatsApp to see
I checked in the morning I got two views,
Thirty two at noon and in the evening added few,
Seventy five by eight and eighty four by nine.
But they were not seen by the best friend of mine.
Why he didn't see? Why he didn't see?
Wasn't he angry with me?
Was he angry? He was angry? Was he?
With me! With me!

S. Bharat
S Bharat Apr 10
The Post

I went to picnic spot and had a lot of fun
With cousin and di
I took some selfies and later on posted
Them on WhatsApp to see
I checked in the morning I got two views,
Thirty two at noon and in the evening added few,
Seventy five by eight and eighty four by nine.
But they were not seen by the best friend of mine.
Why he didn't see? Why he didn't see?
Wasn't he angry with me?
Was he angry? He was angry? Was he?
With me! With me!

S. Bharat
Ira Desmond Apr 8
Capitalism will draw
and quarter you. Capitalism
will stretch your cells,
like saltwater taffy
until their membranes tear apart.
Capitalism will seek
to extract as much profit as it can
from your aging body,
and then, after it’s had
its way with you, Capitalism will do
the same thing to your children’s bodies.

Capitalism will tell you
to treat yourself to
a hundred-dollar Waygu beef
burger with gold leaf and
a perfectly fried egg on top
(along with a piece of New York
cheesecake for dessert),

and Capitalism will tell you
that your body is hideous,
shameful. Go to the gym
already and fix your
disgusting fat thighs. And do
something about
those stretch marks
from your latest pregnancy.
How could you
allow yourself to look like that?
And why not try these slimming
garments to hide your
cellulite?

Capitalism will tell you
that you’re beautiful just the way you are.
It will show you unphotoshopped ads
with curvy women wearing no makeup
and smiling, confident and empowered,
while it whispers in your ear
about how woke it’s become.

And Capitalism will tell you
that actually
your **** and *** big aren’t big enough.
Why don’t you look like a Kardashian, and
why can I still see your pores?
The way you’re doing your
eyebrows is so last year, and
how are you ever going to meet
the right man
with that basic ***** wardrobe?

Capitalism will tell you it’s time
to start a family. In fact,
time is running out
for you to start a family.
(Tick-tock tick-tock.)
It will show you
pictures of smiling babies, swaddled safely
in warm cribs.
(Tick-tock tick-tock.)
It will show you
images of storks wearing delivery caps
and white two-story houses
in well-to-do suburbs
where everyone has a nice job,
and the schools are good,
and they still get together for block parties
and barbecues every year
on the Fourth of July.
(Tick-tock.)

And Capitalism will tell you
that actually now’s not the time
to start a family,
that you need to
work hard to be successful, and, really,
you should be willing to commute
a few hours each day
if the job is worth it.
Capitalism will tell you
that nobody gets ahead without
hard work
(an outright lie),
that everybody else is working harder
than you are
(another outright lie),
and that you need to have a side hustle
if you want to keep the pace
(another outright lie).

And Capitalism will also tell you
that you need a vacation
or else you’ll burn out.
Capitalism will tell you that
your vacation needs to be epic,
the trip of a lifetime,
deeply Instagrammable,
or you’ll have done it all wrong.
Capitalism will tell you
that you should spend extra
to stay in that luxury over-ocean villa
in Bora Bora, and if
you don’t stay in that luxury
over-ocean villa in Bora Bora, then
you must not be working hard enough,
you must not be
one of the worthy ones.

Capitalism will tell you
to stay informed, always,
about what’s happening in the news
because keeping up with the news
is important for educated citizens
like you and me.
Capitalism will tell you to keep following the news,
to keep reading Twitter to the point
where you’re anxiously,
repeatedly pulling down
to refresh,
waiting for the UI to refresh itself,
fixated, always
waiting for the Tweets to refresh
themselves.

And then Capitalism will tell you
that actually you need to be medicated,
because the problem is you here
and really you’re way too anxious,
and life is too short, and
you deserve to be well, don’t you?
Capitalism will prescribe you
drugs to enhance
the other drugs it’s prescribed you already
(Abilify®)
and then give you more drugs to combat
the side effects
of your other drugs
(Lucemyra™)
and then it will sell you more drugs
to reverse any overdoses on
your other drugs
that you might end up having
(Narcan®).

Capitalism will tell you
to do everything you do
as hard as you can possibly do it,
because Capitalism is
at its very core
a glutton
and a sadist.

But one thing that Capitalism
will never tell you to do
is this:

Climb, naked,
to the top of a verdant
hill
in late spring
on the night of a full
moon.
Do not howl
at the moon.
Instead,
breathe deeply.
Place yourself
in the fetal
position
amongst the coarse
sage and grasses,
allowing
their branches and blades to scratch
your skin,
while the centipedes
emerge from the dirt,
and slither over your body
and the crickets
sing
and the mist
of your dead forebears
washes over you
and communes with you,
laying bare
those unquantifiable truths
that Capitalism has never known,
and will never know,
and will therefore never reveal to anyone.
While exposed
in this fashion,
realize that the whole of this Earth, too,
is exposed, naked, fetal—
every bit
as alive and as vulnerable as you are.

Capitalism will draw and quarter the both of you.
Roses are red...
Violets are blue,
Life's pretty ****..
What can you do?
Ronnie Feb 24
It's suffocating.
The sheer concept
of time passing by
feels almost like
a soul to squeeze
caged within my chest.
The silence resonating
within the aether
is deafening.
It tastes like defeat.
I can feel it
just on the tip of my tongue
ready to spill.
My lips are sealed
yet my soul is bare
writhing in agony
the constant question of
is the line busy
will you call out
into the hollow void
the warmth of your voice
entering the right atrium
echoing impatiently
until the oceans sigh
and I breathe in again
reaching new depths.
I feel it in my fingertips
a phantom memory
resurfacing as I trace
images and symbols
something so strange
yet so familiar
a gleam of light
in my line of vision.
There is no answer
you have gone
missing
eight minutes ago
That feeling you experience
when you see your message has been read
without a response.
We both live in Mumbai,
He is Harish, I am Jai.
He lives on the pavement,
Next to my luxurious apartment,
He lives in a shack with metal covered with tarpaulin roof,
It has a T.V dish and WIFI
Mine is hi tech and fire proof.
He sells Samosas on streets and trains,
I am a CEO of a huge company and its top brains.
He rides a small scooter,
I move in a a posh chauffeur driven car,
We are both dressed according to our status.
But, life is ludicrous,
He is always carefree, laughing and most happy,
Whilst I am always stressed and snappy.
He sells 4000 to 5000 samosas a day,
Free, sometimes by midday,
He gets a profit of rupees one for each samosas he sells,
Mostly he gets orders to deliver on his cell.
He earns as much as I do,
Makes me seethe red and blue,
He is his own boss,
Net income, no tax, no loss,
While I slog day and night for others,
Thinking of it makes me shudder.
He is even the owner of the house I live in,
My company has rented from him,
He even owns two more houses in the neighbourhood  within,
And a garage not  far,
Where it  services  our company's cars.
Life's like that.
Samosas are indian pastries with fillings of minced meat or vegetables and lentils
DKSouls Jan 13
The noise I hear is just an illusion, I fear.
When I cross the road and drop a tear, a smile tries to appear on my face and people look at me with disgrace.

The reason I smile is because it's fun that nobody reaches up after a while and why should I care, if people only stare.

I just want to be here, what do they have to fear?
Do I get in their way or they in mine, is living in the same city now a crime?
To question is insane because the silence will remain.

They've got nothing to say and I won't ever go away.
I can treat them right or wrong but it doesn't matter because we'd never get along.

These looks tell me more than books. It seems like I should leave but this won't happen as long as I breathe. It's my life and my decision and I really couldn't care less about their vision.

Everyone around me stays silent as if speaking up equals violent.
I have nothing to offer, neither am I willing to take, just respect eachother for God's sake.
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